


Now or Never

by Space_and_Thyme



Series: You Are My Lucky Star [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 19 year old Steve Rogers, 1930s Stucky, 20 year old Bucky Barnes, Asthma attack, Boys In Love, Brooklyn appartment, Bucky's a dish and he knows it, Carnival Games, Coney Island, Ferris Wheel, First Kiss, Followed by Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Some angst, steve's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-05 20:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15871293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_and_Thyme/pseuds/Space_and_Thyme
Summary: 1937. They've been living together for the last three years, and have known each other for eleven.When Bucky takes Steve to Coney Island for his birthday, the truth finally comes out at the top of the Ferris Wheel.





	Now or Never

**Author's Note:**

> This series is set in the same universe as my Winter's Child series, but is for all the stuff that doesn't involve Steve and Bucky's adopted daughter, Violet. All the pre-war stuff, all the fluff that doesn't include their daughter, and... all the smut. Because I feel weird about including the smut in the Winter's Child segments.

_July 2 nd, 1937._

_1:00 am._

It was still incredibly early – that much was obvious the moment his eyes opened. It was completely black outside, and his face was heavy with exhaustion. Bucky paused a moment, trying to figure what had broken him from sleep. The room was hot, undeniably stuffy with the heat of the summer night, but he doubted that that was what had broken his slumber. It was like this every night, especially here, trapped between the wall and Steve’s small but warm frame.

 

And then he heard it; the strained wheezing coming from the tiny body lying behind him, as he felt the tight clutch of Steve’s hand on the cotton of the undershirt covering his side.  Bucky’s eyes widened as his heart leapt into his throat – he lifted his arm up out of the way as he turned his head on the pillow to look at Steve.

 

Steve was definitely awake and in the middle of a strong asthma attack. His face was turning red as he tried, desperately, to breathe. His eyes were wild with fear and panic, his slight frame completely wracked with the vice-like grip in his lungs. The arteries in his neck were straining with the desperation to breathe. The added panic was doing nothing to help him.

 

Bucky wasted no time. Throwing the bed clothes off of his legs, he all but vaulted out of bed, leaping over the small blanket chest that was positioned at the foot of it. He almost slammed his shoulder into the doorframe as he moved faster than his still waking body cared to – it didn’t matter. Stevie needed him right now. He threw his shoulders sideways to make it out the half-opened bedroom door, while he turned the bedroom light on with a smack of his open palm against the push-button switch.

 

Coffee. He needed to make coffee- as black and as strong as possible.

 

Their apartment was small - without much to offer, but it meant that even in the darkness of the late night he could navigate his way at a breakneck speed. His bare feet slid on the cheap tile of the tiny kitchenette’s floor – a sure sign that the floor needed to be washed, but he’d worry about that later. He had to get Stevie through the asthma attack first.

 

Bucky snapped on the over-the-stove light and grabbed the box of matches out of the drawer beside the oven. He lit the burner as fast as he could, but it still felt like forever. He pushed away the thought of the ticking clock, and grabbed the small iron pot they used to brew coffee in after the coffee pot itself had been accidentally life on the burner too long. It had burned through the thin aluminium base, and had to be discarded. Moving like a man possessed, he filled it with water and threw it onto the heat source, before immediately tearing open the cupboard for the last of their coffee grounds. There wasn’t much left, but it was going to have to do. Without waiting for the water to boil first, Bucky dumped the coffee grounds into the pot.

 

Snatching up the box of matches again, and an old pack of Lucky Strikes that they used to store the hand-rolled Asthma Cigarettes in, Bucky dashed back the short distance across the apartment and all but crashed through the bedroom door as he smacked one of the herbal cigarettes he’d rolled earlier out of the pack and into his hand. He immediately shoved it between his lips and struck a match, lighting it.

 

He spoke out of the other side of his mouth as he held the cigarette between his lips, drawing on it to get the flow of the medicinal smoke going. “Steve! Steve listen to me, you need to calm down!” He waved out the match as he dropped to his knees in front of Steve – who was still straining, trying his hardest to get control over his breathing.

 

Bucky pulled the cigarette out of his own mouth, and held it for a moment as it smouldered away. “I need you to follow with me, can you do that?!”

 

Steve’s eyes were wild, and he was trying his best to breathe, but he nodded slightly as Bucky put his free hand on Steve’s knee comfortingly.

 

Bucky exaggerated his breathing – drawing a loud inhale in for four seconds – counting off the seconds by tapping Steve’s knee with the tip of his left middle finger. Steve fought to follow along with him, but the breath was shallow. Bucky held his breath for seven seconds, tapping out the time again. He spoke, strained without releasing the air, “You’re doing good, Stevie! Keep with me!” as he tapped out the seventh second, he exaggerated his exhale for a count of 8 seconds.

 

He repeated this pattern, tapping out the seconds, with Steve three more times, finally getting Steve to a place where his inhale was a little stronger. He put the herbal cigarette between Steve’s lips – as the younger man’s hands were still tightly gripping the sheets in terror.

 

Steve’s eyes squeezed closed as he took a drag from the herbal cigarette – the combination of peppermint, lobelia, lungwort, and thorn apple starting to fill his tightened and burning lungs.

 

Bucky pulled the cigarette from Steve’s mouth again. “Good! You’re doing good Stevie! Breathe with me again!”

 

Again, Bucky led Steve through the 4-7-8 method, counting each second with a gentle tap of his finger against Steve’s knobby knee. It wasn’t enough to end the attack, nor was the cigarette on its own, but it was a start. After another five minutes, alternating between breathing exercises and drags on the cigarette, Bucky got up off the floor.

 

“Keep breathing, Stevie. I’ll be right back!” Giving Steve the last segment of the cigarette, Bucky ran back out of the bedroom, and made it to the kitchen. Desperate still, and without time to let the coffee grounds simmer and settle to the bottom of the pot that was currently in full rolling boil, Bucky grabbed Steve’s preferred mug out of the dishrack, and covered the opening of it with a clean tea towel. He had to be quick, or he’d spill it and scald himself, but he’d done this before, thankfully. Quickly lifting the pot off the burner, he dumped the contents into the mug – the linen towel acting as a filter that kept the grounds out of the mug. He threw the pot with a _bang!_ Into the sink, before gathering up the sides of the towel and squeezing the last of the liquid through the fabric. He turned off the burner as he picked up the mug and hurried back to Steve.

 

It was starting to ease off now, but the prolonged strain had been exhausting. Steve managed to stamp out the last of the cigarette in the ashtray positioned beside their bed, and sat, still breathing in the 4-7-8 pattern – counting it out with his own hand tapping on the bed in time with each second.

 

Bucky dropped to his knees on the wooden floor in front of Steve again, holding the mug in front of himself in two hands. Nodding in understanding, Steve wrapped his hands around the mug, over Bucky’s – and if the hot ceramic burned his palms, Bucky never mentioned it. Steve ducked his head down as Bucky helped him steady the mug, and drank as much of the hot coffee as he could bear in one gulp – wincing a little at both the temperature and the incredibly burnt taste.

 

Bucky had let it boil too long, while he coached Steve’s breathing.  

 

By the time the mug was empty, Steve was breathing almost normally. He was exhausted – his small body completely spent from the force and the terror, and the interrupted sleep cycle. The caffeine in the coffee wasn’t enough to keep him conscious – that hadn’t been its purpose. Caffeine was similar to a drug used as a bronchodilator, meaning that it helped release the tightness in his lungs and allowed as much air in as possible. 

 

Bucky had lifted himself from the floor, and sat on the side of the bed, nudging Steve over slightly. Now, as Bucky set the empty mug on the nightstand, Steve’s exhaustion became apparent. Completely spent, the other man was half sitting in Bucky’s lap, body limp. Steve felt jellied – like his limbs contained no bones and he possessed no ability to move them. Instead, he collapsed, leaning heavily into Bucky’s chest, still forcing himself to breathe in a deep and calm manner.

 

Arms wrapped around Steve protectively, and comfortingly, Bucky continued to hold him even as Steve drooled slightly against Bucky’s chest- wetting the undershirt that he’d been sleeping in with his white and blue striped boxers. Once Bucky was certain Steve was alright, he collapsed back against their small, lumpy, shared mattress. Bringing Steve with him.

 

Bucky released an exhale of relief that he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

 

They’d made it through this time.

 

Steve couldn’t even fight it, too tired. He stayed in Bucky’s arms with his cheek on his friend’s chest. He was asleep before long.

 

Bucky, however, didn’t sleep the rest of the night. He drifted in and out of a doze, but never fell fully back asleep He was still listening for a repeat attack which thankfully never came. He couldn’t lose his Stevie, not like this. He was already more than aware that every day they had together was a blessing, and not promised.

 

_July 2 nd, 1937._

_9:00 am._

Steve awoke to find Bucky had already left for work. The bed was empty, and the Asthma Cigarette’s burnt and stamped out butt had been removed from the ashtray, as well as the mug removed from the nightstand. The old Lucky Strike packet that held the hand-rolled herbal cigarettes was carefully arranged in the place of the mug, with the box of matches. In the off chance that they awoke in the middle of the night with Steve having another attack, Bucky didn’t want to have to run to get the medicine. It was a waste of all-too-valuable time.

 

Besides, they had a tin of the medicinal herbal blend tucked away in the kitchen cupboard – Bucky could just roll another dozen cigarettes and store them out there as well, so there was always alternate stocks of the treatment available.

 

Steve was still tired, though he’d fallen into a deep sleep after the strain of the asthma attack – lulled by both the physical exhaustion and the warm comfort of Bucky’s arms. He just couldn’t tell his friend that that was why he’d slept so soundly, even if Bucky would assume it was because Steve felts safe knowing there was someone with him should he have another aftershock attack.

 

He dressed, and made the bed, smoothing out the comforter as he glanced out the bedroom window towards the red-brick building across from them. It was identical, for the most part, and nothing all that incredible. Certainly nothing to write home about. He only glanced, knowing that their bedroom window was across from another bedroom window – he wondered if anyone had witnessed the closeness of the night before – not that there was anything to hide, only that he wondered if anyone had seen them once the light was on and their dark bedroom had become a glowing fishbowl visible from outside.

 

He pushed the thoughts aside, and sighed to himself, walking out into the living room – where he paused. Bucky was sitting outside on the fire escape, smoking. The living room window was opened, and Bucky had obviously ducked out under the open pane. Frowning, Steve walked over to the window and leaned on the window sill; Bucky raised his brow slightly as he glanced at Steve, in the middle of taking another drag off his cigarette. One leg dangled off the edge of the fire escape.

 

“I thought ya went to work.” Steve smiled, unsure of why Bucky was still home, but happy to see him nevertheless. But, his brows knit together tightly. “You didn’t cut out because of me, did ya? I can take care of myself-“ he tried to argue.

 

Bucky snorted a little with humor as he gave Steve a pointed look. They both knew that during an attack like the one the night before, Steve could _not_ take care of himself. He needed someone with him. Bucky breathed out the last puff of smoke, and flicked the cigarette butt of the Lucky Strike off the fire escape. “Nah, was plannin’ on taking the day off anyway, pal.” Bucky pushed himself up onto his feet and locked his hands above his head as he stretched himself – bowing his entire body to stretch every muscle.

 

Steve moved back from the window, knowing Bucky was about to duck back through it again. As his friend came back into the apartment, Steve looked at him curiously. “What for?”

 

“’Cause I’m takin’ ya to Coney Island.”

 

Steve’s brows lifted as his eyes lit up. “What? We can’t afford-“

 

Bucky quirked a brow and tilted his head slightly as he looked down at his diminutive friend. “It’s your birthday, and I say we _can._ Been plannin’ and savin’ since March.”

 

Steve was grinning, but still felt the need to be the smartass. “My birthday’s not until the 4th, Buck.”

 

“Yeah, and the 4th is Sunday – ya really wanna deal with the mess it’ll be ta get there and back then?”

 

Steve shrugged his shoulders easily. “Nah, we’d probably get stuck overnight in a cheap motel, havin’ ta share a single bed cause nothin’ else is available.” He smirked, jabbing Bucky in the side playfully.

 

“Oh ha ha, punk!” Bucky threw his arm around Steve’s narrow shoulders and dragged him in close to his side. “We both know ya wouldn’t mind – I’m a _great_ bunk mate!” he laughed, but failed to notice the brief pink flush that passed over Steve’s face.

 

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, Buck.” Steve teased, “Maybe one day I’ll believe ya.”

 

Bucky suddenly swung his hips and knocked Steve lightly to the side as he removed his arm from around his shoulders. “Go get ready, punk.”

 

★

 

If Red Hook was hot and muggy in the summer, Coney Island proved to be much the same – but at least the sea breeze coming off of Brighton Beach kept the air moving.

 

Within five minutes of arrival, Bucky unbuttoned his sleeves, and rolled them up to his elbows, and popped the top button, wafting his collar to cool his chest a little. “Hoo boy, it’s a scorcher.” The Desert Sand coloured cotton of his casual dress shirt had a soft pink-orange tone in the bright July sunlight. He slid his hands into the pockets of his dark taupe, high-waisted, dress pants as he rocked back on his heels.

 

He was grinning brighter than the sun overhead. “Where ya wanna start, pal?”

 

Steve shook his head a little as he looked around. “I’ll tell ya this much – you’re _not_ getting me on the Cyclone again.”

 

Bucky snorted loud, barely containing his mirth. “And why’s that?”

 

“Alright wise guy. If ya want me ta throw up all over ya, I’ll get on it.” Steve half-glared his sarcastic discontent at his friend.

 

Still grinning, Bucky held his hands up, palms towards Steve, pacifyingly. The worn leather watch strap on his left wrist – a flat-linked steel bracelet on his right. He shrugged easily. “Okay, so no to the Cyclone.”

 

Three hours later found them strolling along the boardwalk, picking at pink cotton candy as they moved through the throng of people. They stuck close together, Bucky’s tall and broad frame offering Steve a pocket of space while other tourists were kept a bay.

 

Steve loved Coney Island, but the best part of it was being there with Bucky.

 

Bucky glanced up and spotted a Carnival game. Grinning, he nudged Steve lightly in the side. When Steve’s brows furrowed, and followed Bucky’s gesture, his eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right Buck? Darts aren’t exactly my game.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes lightly. “Nah, but they’re mine. I’m getting ya that bear.” He pointed at the stuffed teddy bear with the Army officer’s peaked cap that was hanging from the top of the game kiosk, as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

 

“The bear? What makes ya think I want the bear?” Steve laughed, but followed Bucky as he walked to the kiosk.

 

Bucky shot a grin at him over his shoulder as he pulled a dime out of his wallet.

 

But Steve caught sight of the game sign. “Buck – it’s a dime _a dart_!”

 

“I only need _one_.” Bucky flipped the dime over to the gamer operator.

 

The carnival worker sneered, “Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t ya, kid?”

 

Bucky shrugged easily, “I know what I’m worth.”

 

Steve sighed as he watched Bucky take the dart from the operator, and weighed it in his hand as the man spoke.

 

“Dart in the red star wins. If the dart touches the blue, you lose. Liners are misses, each try is a dime – and _no_ leaning to steady your aim.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Bucky shook his shoulders out, limbering himself up.

 

“Good luck, Kid.”

 

The red star in question, was the size of a quarter, in a field of blue, surrounded by circular banded lines that criss-crossed over each other. It seemed almost an impossible game – but it had to be _just_ possible enough that the game couldn’t be considered rigged or run by a con-artist.

 

Bucky’s eyes suddenly narrowed as he weighed the dart in his fingers. He looked down at the little lead dart – it _looked_ normal, but it was unevenly weighted. So _that_ was the other trick. “Hm… I think I got it.”

 

He took aim, altering the balance of the rigged dart in his fingers, closed his non-dominant eye, and threw it.

 

The dart landed in the red star – just barely. It wasn’t a bull’s eye by any means, landing in the left point of the star, but it was free of both the blue field and the lines.

 

“Ha! Gotch’ya!” Bucky quickly raised his arms in victory, and jumped up and down.

 

The cigarette fell from the game operator’s mouth as his jaw dropped in shock. Bucky _really very probably_ shouldn’t have been able to hit the star.

 

Needless to say, Bucky got the bear. As they were walking away, he held it out for Steve. “Happy birthday.” He grinned.

 

Steve took the bear and looked down at it – the little peaked cap was dipped over one ear, giving the bear a cocky look with the jaunty hat. He shook his head incredulously. “Thanks Buck… What should I call ‘im?”

 

Bucky tilted his head back and smirked a little. “He looks like a _James,_ if you ask me.”

 

Steve snorted and shook his head, “That’s presumptuous.”

 

“Nah, come on – can’t ya see it?” Bucky took the bear back from Steve and held it up in front his face- approximating the angle were the officer’s cap would sit on him. “See? Dashing!”

 

“Yeah, alright Buck. I’ll give ya that much. Fine, I guess he can be Jimmy.” Steve shook his head good-naturedly and grabbed _James_ back from Bucky.

 

Bucky immediately scrunched his nose and stuck his tongue out in disgust at the name. “At _least_ call him _Jamie_.”

 

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and shoved him as hard as he could – Bucky immediately stumbled sideways, laughing as he nearly crashed into a middle-aged couple. The couple was less amused as he straightened himself – glaring at him and loudly talking amongst themselves about the no-good-lackadaisical-youth. The husband immediately continued on, calling Bucky everything but a Christian, who should-be-tryin’-ta-get-a-job-not-wafflin’-about-in-Coney-Island. Bucky, eyes still sparkling with humor, turned instead to the wife. He winked at the woman, his nose scrunching cutely, as he put on his best feline grin.

 

He knew what he was, knew how he looked, and knew how to use it.

 

It had the intended reaction – the soft-figured middle-aged woman flushed red and cleared her throat. “Oh, I dunno Harold… I’m sure he’s a nice young man.”

 

Harold shot a glare at Bucky, who merely smiled innocently, before he grabbed his wife by the arm and steered her away, further up the boardwalk.

 

Bucky immediately spun to face Steve, who was trying his hardest not to laugh – hiding behind the stuffed bear. He narrowed his eyes “Thanks for that, punk.”

 

“She seemed to like ya.” Steve snorted, teasing again.

 

“They _all_ like me.” Bucky shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets again as they walked along.

 

It was no secret. Girls and adult women alike tended to fall over themselves to get a dance with him – to get his attention. Steve tried not to let it bother him – telling himself it was only because Bucky had grown into everything that Steve had wanted to be: tall, strong, healthy – attractive… but he knew that wasn’t what it was.

 

It bothered him because for the last eleven years, Steve had been half in love with Bucky – even when they were kids. Even before he knew what he was feeling. Even when he was a scrawny, feather weight, kid and Bucky was a little podgy. The fact that Bucky had grown into a physical shape that matched his personality and his soul, well… it only made the attraction stronger. But it wasn’t aesthetic attraction, not purely. If Steve was being honest – he was in love with Bucky’s heart and soul. Rather desperately so.

 

And of course he was – because Bucky was _everything._

 

Bucky was the kid that threw himself into a fight to rescue another kid he’d never met, when he was being bullied. Bucky was the kid that got himself thrown into a dumpster along with Steve, because he couldn’t stand by and let the scrawny kid get bullied without _trying_ to save him. Because Bucky had a good soul.

 

That was how they had met, originally. And they’d bonded fast.

 

But Steve could never tell Bucky how much he loved him – it’d scare Bucky away and he knew it.

 

 Instead, Steve smiled and stuffed the bear into the right pocket of his trousers – the little face and officer’s cap peeking out as he bumped shoulders with Bucky. “Worse things than being a ladies man.”

 

Bucky looked down at him, and returned the light shoulder bump. “Yeah…”

 

★

 

It was a good day. They’d played games, ate more junk than they should have between the two of them, and took in as many of the rides as Steve was willing to – the Cyclone excluded. They'd even managed to get on Brighton Beach for a while – basking in the sun on a rented blanket.

 

But, it was starting to get late. The sun had already dipped just beneath the horizon, and the last train home would be leaving in just under an hour. Bucky checked his watch.

 

“’Kay, pal. Train leaves in fifty. So, we got time for one last thing – ‘specially since the crowd thinned out after dark. What’a’ya wanna do?”

 

Steve shrugged his shoulders as he glanced around. Honestly, the only thing – other than the Cyclone – that they hadn’t done was the Ferris Wheel. “Line for the Wonder Wheel seems short enough.”

 

Bucky’s brows quickly flicked up in surprise. “I thought ya didn’t like heights, Stevie…”

 

Steve shrugged his thin shoulders easily. “Heights ain’t so bad… it’s the idea of fallin’ from them that gives me the willies.”

 

Bucky agreed with a nod and a shrug of his shoulders – he really couldn’t argue with that logic. He checked his watch again, and Steve caught him.

 

“Come on, it’ll be a fifteen minute ride at best. We’ll make it to the train with time to spare.”

 

Bucky snorted, and shook his head. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy, but conceded nonetheless. After all, it was Steve’s birthday (in two days…), and after the terror of the night before, well, he wasn’t about to say no. Besides, Steve was right.

 

Steve was _not_ right.

 

The moment their carriage got to the top of the 150 foot Wonder Wheel, the mechanics had ground to a halt with sparks and oil smoke.

 

“I’m sure it’ll be fixed in a jiff-“ Steve glanced sideways at Bucky, who sat with his elbow on the metal rim of the carriage, and his cheek on his fist.

 

Bucky was smiling softly, sweetly, somewhere between victory and defeat. The expression quite clearly said _‘I’m not going to say it… but I told you so.’_

“Hey! I couldn’t have known-“

 

Bucky shook his head, sweet smile still in place. “I didn’t say anything, Stevie.”

 

The time ticked by – the sound of the ground below them lost as the wind rocked the cage they sat in. After what felt like an eternity, Bucky lifted his hand and glanced at his watch. They’d been up here for an hour, and had definitely missed the train home. There was nothing he could do about – no way to turn back time and stop them from getting onto the Wonder Wheel, so he simply shrugged it off. He still had a bit of cash kept back, meaning he could hire a taxi back to Red Hook if they needed – _when_ they needed it.

 

“Well, one good thing about bein’ stuck up here?” Bucky hummed easily as he stretched himself out and slouched down a bit; resting back against the uncomfortable metal of the carriage, and putting his feet up on the empty bench seat across from them.

 

Steve, who sat worrying the soft mohair of the stuffed bear between his fingers, glanced side-long towards his friend. As Bucky glanced back at him, he noticed how pale Steve had gone. A white complexion, and nervous eyes.

 

The first thought that flashed through Bucky’s mind was _‘Jesus Christ! PLEASE not now! Not here!’_

 

They couldn’t go through another asthma attack – not so soon, and certainly not up here where there was nothing that Bucky could do for him but try to coach him through his terror – a feat much easier when they were not a hundred and fifty feet off the ground.

 

Immediately, Bucky sat up properly again. “Stevie? What’s wrong?” the panic had raised slightly in his voice. “You’re not havin’ another attack, are ya?”

 

Steve’s brows furrowed together, but once he realized Bucky’s concern he shook his head. “No… no I’m alright… it’s just…”

 

Bucky’s brows knit together, staying knotted in the middle as he studied his friend, looking for any sign of what might be about to come. “Are you sick?”

 

Again, Steve shook his head.

 

“Then what is it-“

 

“I forgot just how much I don’t like heights…” he all but whispered, and Bucky could have kissed him.

 

His shoulders sagged in relief and he temporarily bowed his head. “Christ Stevie, ya had me worried there…”

 

“I don’t need a lecture right now, Buck.” Steve snapped – half in anger, and half with panic. He was trying to not look down. “I’d’a been _fine_ if we weren’t stuck at the _top_!”

 

Bucky started chuckling – unable to help himself. But, seeing the anger glinting in Steve’s blue eyes, he held up his hands gently and nodded. “Alright, here.” Bucky shifted himself slowly, but the movement still caused the carriage to rock somewhat violently.

 

One hand immediately dropped to the metal seat, gripping it tightly as the other clung to _Jamie_ the stuffed bear, as Steve’s shoulders went tense. He looked like a terrified cat.

 

He moved closer to Steve, inch by inch until he was no longer draped in the corner of the carriage, but rather was sitting with his thigh pressed to Steve’s. Bucky put his arm along the back bar of the carriage, behind Steve’s shoulders, as he braced his right foot in the right corner. His large frame took up enough space that, with one foot in the corner and his left hand almost on the locked door, he stabilized the carriage – preventing it from rocking as drastically.

 

“Better?”

 

Steve nodded quickly and tightly, like he’d not even bothered to listen to the question. It was stupid, and he knew it. It _wasn’t_ the height that terrified him – it was the damage of what _could_ happen if the carriage suddenly swung and let go of them. It was the fall, the terror of racing through the air at breakneck speed towards an inevitable death below. It was the fear of what _could_ happen, not the fear of the height itself. It was the fear of the movement.

 

Bucky waited patiently, until Steve realized that the movements were no longer as drastic, before he tried again. “Better?”

 

Steve, finally noticing the way in which Bucky had draped himself diagonally across the cage, the closeness of him, and the stabilization of the carriage, nodded his head again. “Yeah… yeah… Sorry, Buck-“

 

“Nah, don’t apologize. We all got fears. At least this one I can do somethin’ about.” _‘Unlike my fear of losing you, Stevie…’_

 

Steve’s tight posture started to relax, as he breathed out a slow exhale. He shifted a little, imperceptibly closer, until the peak of his shoulder brushed against the side of Bucky’s pectoral as he sat with his arm braced along the back behind Steve. “I just wish they’d get this stupid thing movin’ again… I wanna get down.” He huffed.

 

“Well, like I said…” Bucky leaned his head back so he could check his watch behind Steve’s head. It was almost time. “There’s one good thing about bein’ stuck up here.”

 

“And what’s that? If I was ya best gal, I might get it.” Steve forced a laugh – while he thought he was hilarious, the fear was still gripping him. It made it hard to laugh at his own joke.

 

“Nah, ‘m here with my best guy anyway. And that’s not what I meant, punk.” Bucky directed Steve’s attention out towards the expanse of the night across from them – just as the first cracks of gunpowder went off.

 

In a moment, the sky was lit up by bright explosions of red, white, and blue sparks as the Friday night fireworks began. Steve’s eyes widened in awe, as he slowly turned from the display towards his friend. Bucky’s face, in profile, was illuminated by the soft red light of the falling sparks, and time seemed to slow a little. Steve knew this was a moment that would be forever burned into his memory, and he couldn’t be happier as he watched the light reflect off of Bucky and his friend’s gentle, handsome, smile.

 

After a moment, Steve swallowed tightly around a lump that was forming in his throat. The strong affection for Bucky suddenly welled up once more, and squeezed in his chest painfully. But, he felt as though he was on a precipice – and he didn’t know how he came to be there. He’d loved Bucky in secret for more than a decade – had lived with him for three years and had only felt the affection grow. Sometimes, like right now, Bucky was just so beautiful that it nearly stopped his already weak heart.  And while he treasured how each of those moments burned their way into his memory, it pained him as well.

 

He fought to find his voice, small and tight in his chest. “Can I…”

 

Bucky hummed and lackadaisically turned to look at Steve, his eyes and smile warm and soft with tender affection, as the light of the fireworks glittered in his grey irises.

 

Swallowing tightly again, Steve gestured vaguely to Bucky’s open left shoulder next to him. Bucky nodded, just once, and Steve carefully laid his head onto the section of muscle between Bucky’s shoulder and breast. He closed his eyes tightly, relaxing into the familiar yet foreign position. He exhaled softly, as Bucky fondly rest his cheek against his crown.

 

The whisper left his mouth before he even realized he’d spoken. “I love you, Buck.”

 

Realizing his mistake, Steve’s heart pounded in his chest and the tension returned to his body. He couldn’t pull away – not yet – there was always the chance that Bucky hadn’t heard him over the cacophonous popping and crackling of the fireworks. Even though Steve was right below his ear…

 

“Love you too, Stevie…” Bucky murmured back without hesitation. He moved his arm off of the back of the carriage, and instead slung it lightly over Steve’s shoulders, keeping him close.

 

But the love in his chest was a living thing. A living creature that had been trapped and caged too long, and the cage was breaking.

 

It was now, or never.

 

And, for just a moment, Steve could pretend that Bucky wouldn’t leave him and their friendship behind after he told him. For just a moment he could almost believe that it would be alright when he told him – that even though Bucky _didn’t_ reciprocate, that he’d always be there for him. Because they were family, right?

 

He didn’t know what had changed, but he needed to say it. It had to be now, in this moment. How many more of these perfect moments was he promised? Steve knew that he wasn’t destined to live a long life – not with the arm’s length list of ailments that affected him. He knew that approaching his nineteenth birthday meant that he was drawing ever closer to age that he was not expected to surpass. He had maybe another six to ten years on this earth, if he was lucky. He didn’t want to spend what time he had left regretting that he’d never found the courage to tell Bucky how he felt.

 

He didn’t want to miss his chance, especially after the terror of the night before. It was a very real fear that one day, and maybe soon, Steve’s health would take a turn for the worst. He couldn’t leave without telling Bucky… he deserved to know, even if it would change everything – even if it meant that the ease in which they fit together was stripped away. Even if it meant that this was the last time that Bucky would ever permit Steve so close to him. In his heart he knew that Bucky would never do that – never cut all physical contact between them. And he knew this because the absolute fear in Bucky’s eyes the night before told him that Bucky would never – could never – leave him alone. No matter what.

 

Now or never…

 

Steve took a deep breath, drinking in the familiar and cozy smell of Bucky. The spicy and sharp overtone laid over the base of chicory that made up his cologne. The faint but sharp trace of the castile soap he washed himself and his clothing with. The slight musk of his sweat, and the warmth of his skin beneath the cotton of his shirt. Steve breathed it in, and committed to memory, in case this was the last time.

 

He sat up slowly; Bucky glanced at him curiously as Steve drew himself out of the warm nook of his shoulder. “I need to tell you something… in case I never get the chance to again…”

 

Immediately Bucky’s dark brows furrowed together in worry. He pushed himself slowly up, focusing on Steve’s face. But he didn’t speak – waiting and listening instead.

 

“I need to tell you something… and … please, Buck… _please_ don’t hate me for it…” his tone wavered as his throat tightened and he forced his voice to not completely crack.

 

Bucky shook his head, “Whatever it is, Stevie… I could never hate ya.”

 

Steve remained silent for a moment, swallowing around that even worse lump in his throat. He didn’t trust his voice right away. And the silence became pregnant, ticking away with each second, until Steve began to regret starting this conversation.

 

Finally, he forced his voice. “Bucky I – “ he paused, and tried again. “I love you-“

 

Bucky shook his head slightly, in mild disbelief as he responded immediately. “I love you too, pal.”

 

Bucky had missed his point, and Steve closed his eyes for a moment. He shook his head as he opened his cerulean eyes once again. “No… I…”

 

_‘Now or never… make your choice, Rogers.’_

 “ _James_ … I… I’m _in love_ with you…” His heart was pounding and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Bucky’s eyes. He did, however, feel Bucky shake his head when it caused the carriage to swing a little. “I’m sorry Buck… I … I didn’t plan on ever telling you, but –“

 

Bucky exhaled softly, with a huffed and exasperated edge, as he shook his head again. “You haven’t been listening, have you?”

 

Steve’s brows knit and he finally looked up at Bucky. Hurt, and confusion, evident in his eyes. “What do you –“

 

“I just told ya, _twice_ , that I love ya too.”

 

Steve shook his head, “That’s… that’s different, Buck…”

 

“It’s really _not_ , pal.” He teased.

 

“Yeah it is… ya say it ta me all the time, and I know ya mean it like we’re brothers or somethin’…”

 

Bucky only quirked an eyebrow up as he watched Steve’s face.

 

“And… and I don’t love ya like my… my brother…” his voice wanted to break again. “I… _Jesus,_ Buck…” he swallowed audibly this time, and was beginning to wonder why his throat wasn’t raw from it. “I love ya like… like you’re the sun. You’re _everything_ to me Buck, and I… I _love_ you...” he tried to emphasize his words, hoping it would drive the meaning home.

 

Bucky waited patiently until Steve fell silent again. “Stevie…”

 

Steve exhaled a little louder. _‘Here comes the rejection of everything I’ve ever known, loved, or had…’_

 

“Stevie…” Bucky lifted his hand and brought it to Steve’s face; cradling his jaw gently. The smaller man’s eyes immediately flashed up to meet his face- blue irises wide with confusion. “I could _never_ hate you, ya know that. Sure ya drive me ta drink some days, but I could _never_ hate you.”

 

Steve nodded silently, wide eyes still locked on Bucky’s beautiful grey eyes, even as the last of the fireworks popped and glimmered away from them – illuminating them both.

 

“You’ve _got_ me… I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” he let a beat of a pause pass. “I’ve been tellin’ ya for _years_ Stevie… I’m just not great with the words…”

 

Steve’s heart leapt in his chest, thumping with sudden excitement. Surely Bucky didn’t mean…?

 

“I. Love. You. _Too_.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone tenderly.

 

And Steve thought his heart was going to break free, and soar amongst the stars.

 

Bucky slowly leaned in closer, until they were only a breath apart. Steve had never been happier that it was _their_ carriage that had gotten stuck at the top of the Wonder Wheel. Its position meant that they were completely out of eye-line of the other carriages.

 

He spoke, his lips _almost_ brushing against Steve’s. “I _wouldn’t_ be here with ya, if I wasn’t _yours_ …”

 

Steve’s eyes dropped from Bucky’s irises, and down to the soft, pink, Cupid’s bow of his mouth. His pulse was pounding in his ears; his heart racing. They were only a breath apart. The weight of Bucky’s palm on his jaw, the warmth of his body heat radiating off of him, the smell of his cologne, and the strange revelation that he loved Steve _too_ , as he’d never dared to hope for, was a heady mix.

 

The stuffed bear with the officer’s cap was abandoned between them as Steve’s hands lifted and cradled Bucky’s jaw. They were a breath apart – a breath too far. Before he could lose his nerve, or the euphoria of being loved too, Steve closed the distance.

 

Bucky’s eyes slid closed the moment Steve surged forward – welcoming the kiss. It was tentative at first – for all the desperation that existed within the two of them – Steve was still hesitant. There was a shyness in the warm press of his mouth against Bucky’s. Bucky parted his lips just a little, drawing Steve’s bottom lip between his. He sucked on it softly as Steve relaxed further into the kiss – knowing he was making the smaller man’s mouth tingle.

 

Steve sighed softly into the kiss; Bucky’s lips were velvet soft and tender. The sweet pressure in the languid slide of Bucky’s mouth against his was heaven. This couldn’t be real – it was a dream. He relaxed against Bucky’s larger frame, as Bucky’s hand pushed back through his golden hair and dropped to the back of Steve’s neck.

 

When Steve finally pulled back from the kiss, his lungs were starving. He didn’t move far – unwilling to let go of Bucky, While Bucky’s hand remained lightly draped around his thin neck, just gently brushing against Steve’s skin, above the collar of his shirt. He breathed deep, knowing that if he didn’t, Bucky would soon be eyeing him with worry. Instead, he looked up slowly and met Bucky’s grey irises again. “Is… is this … _real_? I’m not … I’m not dreamin’?”

 

Bucky smiled softly, and removed his hand from Steve’s neck. The other came up, and laid against Steve’s distant cheek. He pulled him closer, murmuring “It’s real, sweetheart.” Before he kissed the side of Steve’s face affectionately.

 

Now they just had to worry about getting down from the Ferris Wheel.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Heh! Yep, these little snippets of fic are strangely easy for me to write. These two boys just seem to handle it themselves.


End file.
